


as it all falls down around us

by SemperAeternumQue



Category: Keeper of the Lost Cities Series - Shannon Messenger
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Lots of Angst, No beta we die like Kenric, The Pyren Brothers AU, everyone is sad :), im too tired to tag, oralie and bronte are best friends i will die on this hill, semi happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:20:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28402350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SemperAeternumQue/pseuds/SemperAeternumQue
Summary: What if...Bronte and FIntan had run into each other when Lumenaria was collapsing? Canon compliant snippet because i absolutely could not get this idea out of my head (shoutout to @TheDarkChocolateLord for that I think, also i absolutely cannot wait to see if some of the other writers in this fandom pick up this idea.)
Relationships: Councillor Bronte & Councillor Oralie (Keeper of the Lost Cities), Councillor Bronte & Fintan Pyren
Comments: 13
Kudos: 14





	as it all falls down around us

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys welcome to a trainwreck uhhh warnings for some slight gore.

For approximately the five thousandth time in his life, being short was being a problem for Bronte Pyren.

Now, he wasn’t exactly unused to running into difficulties because of his height, but usually they were more on the scale of being unable to reach the goddamn flour, not having a hard time escaping a collapsing castle because he couldn’t run fast enough. Internally, he cursed himself for not practicing channeling more before the Peace Summit. Still, in his defense, he doubted anyone could have seen this coming. Even someone who knew Fintan as well as he did, even someone who knew that Fintan had to be up to something when he showed up at the summit. No, it wasn’t really his fault that he had neglected to practice the one elven skill that he happened to need. 

So here Bronte was, sprinting through a collapsing castle and desperately searching for his best friend. _Oralie is outside, Oralie is safe_ , he repeated to himself. _Oralie’s going to be right there when you finally leave, she’s going to laugh at you for not getting out sooner._

Caught up in his thoughts and worries, he didn’t see the blonde elf in front of him until the two had run squarely into each other.

“Fuck!” Was his first reaction, not even processing who it was.

“A typical reaction from you,” the other replied dryly.

Shit. Fuck. “Fintan.”

“Bronte,” the other returned calmly.

“Were you behind the collapsing castle?” 

Fintan said nothing.

“Tell me,” Bronte ordered. Chunks of rubble were falling past his head and he didn’t even care.

“As if I do anything you tell me to.” Fintan’s sneer seemed fake. “For your information, I was, and it was genius.”

“You call killing innocent people _genius_?”

His brothers eyes were like two icy flames, hot and cold at the same time. “Tell me, Bronte, how many innocents are there truly in this castle?”

"Not you or I," Bronte muttered.

"Precisely."

"What about the others, though? What about Oralie? What about the goblins?"

"No one in this castle has not taken another's life, either with their policy, their inaction, or their own two hands," Fintan hissed. "You know what it means to be a Councillor. You know what sentences we deal out. And no world leader is any different." 

"Not everyone here is a world leader," Bronte pointed out. "What about goblins? Or gnomes? What about-" he hesitated, trying not to think about the hundred deaths that might be happening right now. "What about my inflicting prodigy, Fintan? She's a _child_."

"Collateral damage." Fintan's voice was rough. "Sometimes people have to die to achieve a greater end. The wars taught us that."

"So what, it's okay to injure or kill a castle full of people to free three Neverseen members?"

"Oh, Bronte. Always the caring one out of us both." The sorrow in Fintan's smile seemed almost genuine.

"That used to be you." Bronte's voice came out rough with dust and emotion. "You cared so much more than I ever could. Than I ever would dare to, thinking to care too much was folly. You were the good brother, the kind brother, the brave brother. And now you tell me to care less."

"Shut up about the past! I was the one wrong, then, I cared about the wrong things and the wrong people! You don't know an-"

At the moment Fintan said that, a large chunk of rubble came careening towards his head, and Bronte didn't even think before moving, throwing his body forward to shove Fintan out of the way. He slammed into the other with the full force of his jump, sending them both flying backward to land hard on the stone floor. As the rubble chunk landed, crashing through the floor, Bronte turned the two's momentum into a roll, finally coming to a stop against a wall with Fintan still clutched tightly in his arms.

"Fuck," the younger elf grumbled. "That hurt like a bitch."

"Would you have rather me let you _die_?"

"No, not-" Fintan stared up at him, eyes suddenly going wide. "You just fucking saved my life. Fuck."  
Bronte forced himself to shrug. "What was I supposed to do, let you get crushed?"

His brother laughed, a sound more of pain than of joy. "Always the older brother, huh? Always the protector."

"Always." The lumenite dust got in his eyes, and he chose to pretend that was the only reason they were stinging.

"So, are you going to actually fight me now?"

"I-"

Fintan laughed again. "You can't, can you? You have me literally pinned underneath you, battered and exhausted, and you can't even try to _capture_ me."

Bronte struggled to take a breath amongst the dust and destruction, Fintan's words echoing in his mind as he stood. "Get up."

"What?"

"Get up! We're getting out of the castle."

Just like he had when Bronte used that tone for many, many years, Fintan obeyed.

It didn't seem like he had been lying about the exhaustion, lagging behind Bronte as they frantically searched for an exit. Bronte seriously considered carrying him once or twice, but Fintan- as he often reminded Bronte- was taller by enough to make that somewhat difficult. So they ran, and ran, and coughed as the dust seared their throats, and tripped over pieces of rubble, and ran. 

For those few, precious, terrifying minutes, Bronte felt like he was twenty-one again and fighting what seemed like an endless war, like it was him and Fintan against the world again. The castle was crashing down around their ears, the terror pounding through him reminiscent of his youth, and he and his brother were united in a common goal for survival once more. Just survive. Just survive, just make it out with Fintan beside you. He could worry about the rest later, worry about everything else when he got there. Right now, all that felt like it mattered was survival.

And then they were out, they were coughing in the fresh(er) air as they stumbled away from the castle.

"We made it," Bronte gasped out.

"We did." Fintan's voice was colder than usual, something distant in it that scared Bronte more than he would ever admit.

"Fintan?"

"I'm sorry."

Before Bronte had time to react to that, Fintan had yanked out a small triangle device from his cloak, and fired a shot. Bronte recognized what Fintan was holding the second the blast hit him, the painful paralysis just familiar enough for him to know he had been deceived.

"I'm sorry, brother, but sometimes you have to do what you have to do for the good of the world." There was no apology in his voice.

Bronte felt himself crumple as Fintan sent another blast his way, but he doubted he could have stood and faced Fintan's betrayal even without the melder sending him to the ground. He tried to ask _why_ , but his mouth didn't work any more than his limbs.

Fintan didn't answer his unasked question. How could he, when he hadn't heard it? He did turn, though, did shed his heavy Neverseen cloak and lay it over Bronte. "Stay warm in the wind, brother. I'm sure someone will find you soon."

And Bronte was powerless to stop him as he walked away.

* * *

A duo of dwarves were the first to find him, chattering back and forth to each other in dwarven, which he was fortunate enough to remember how to speak.

"Looks pretty dead to me," the first one was saying.

"No, can't be. Look, he's breathing."

"Well, King Enki said bring back everyone, dead or alive, so we'll take him either way."

Bronte tried to make a noise, but Fintan had shot him twice- of course he had, he would know Bronte's limits- and he was still completely paralyzed.

One of the dwarves slung Bronte over their shoulder with startling ease. "Come on, let's take him to the survivors."

"Or the medics, more like. Wait, isn't that the cloak of those Neverseen bastards?"

"Shit, it is. Let's take him to the elven Council, then, let them decide what to do with him."

They hauled him past small groups of survivors, all the way over to where the rest of the Council was standing- no, not the rest, Bronte realized. There were only nine elves standing there.

"Bronte!" That was Emery, hurrying out of the group. His face was streaked with dust and blood, and his circlet was missing, hair filled with tiny chunks of rubble, but he was alive. "Bronte, are you okay?"

Bronte tried to say "No I'm fucking not, you dumbass," but all that came out was "dumbass".

One of the dwarves snickered. "Councillor, we found him lying on the ground seemingly dead."

"He's not dead, you idiot," the other chimed in. "But he doesn't seem to be able to move."

"Give him to me," Emery ordered. His voice was raspy from the dust, lending his words a sense of extra urgency as he gathered Bronte up in his arms.

"Paralysis without obvious injury is probably a melder shot, and I can fix that. Sorry about this, Bronte."

Bronte stayed still- not that he could do much else- as Emery jabbed him in the neck and send pain shooting through his entire body. "Fuck!"

"Annnnd he's fine," Clarette snorted.

Bronte wiggled out of Emery's arms, taking stock of who was there. "Where's Oralie? And Terik?"

"Terik is with Elwin, he got hurt...very badly." 

For the first time, Bronte noted that Emery was absolutely covered in blood. "What the fuck happened?"

"Terik's leg got trapped," Clarette explained, since Emery didn't seem willing to say. "Emery was the one who found him."

"Oh. And what about Oralie?"

"No one knows where Oralie is," Emery said quietly. 

Bronte forced down the panic that shot through his body at that in time to hear Emery's next question. 

"What happened to you?" Emery looked genuinely concerned. "And why do you have a Neverseen cloak?"

"Ran into Fintan." Bronte knew that explained absolutely nothing, but he didn't really have the energy to say much beyond that. "He got me with a melder but left his cloak behind."

"Oh." 

Even Bronte could see the pity in the other's stares, but he chose to ignore that. "We need to find Oralie."

"We're trying," Emery sighed, running a hand through his hair. "The castle isn't secure yet, though, and dwarves say no one can go in and look for survivors until it's all secured or we could cause worse collapses."

"Fuck."

"I know."

The spokesperson sounded exhausted, and Bronte sighed to himself. "Fine. Let's wait- and let's sit down, its not like our clothes are going to get any more ruined."

Emery gave a choked laugh. "I suppose you're right."

"I'm always right." Bronte dug his fingernails into his opposite arm, turning away from the rest to stare at the devastated structure. Oralie could be in there right now, trapped, dead or dying, and alone, and he wouldn’t even know. Bronte could picture all too clearly what his best friend might look like when they pulled her out of the rubble, her body too still and her eyes blank and staring, blood and bruises scattered across her skin. He knew what the reactions would be, too. Who would scream (Velia, Zarina, Derek), who would be deathly silent (Noland, Liora). Who would act horrified (Alina, Ramira), who would try to console him (Emery, Clarette).

His nails had been digging into his skin more than he had realized, and when he loosened his grasp, red crescents curved across his forearm. Still, he redoubled his grip as he waited for a single scrap of news about Oralie. 

More survivors trickled out of the castle, checking in with the Council and searching for loved ones, but few were recognizable.

Finally, finally, Bronte spotted a familiar blonde in a torn pink dress. Oralie’s skin was covered in scrapes and bruises, there were tear tracks running through the dust coating her face, and her dress was bloodied, but she was alive. Miraculously and undeniably alive. 

Emery spoke for him, relief clear in the spokesperson’s voice. “Oralie! You’re alive!”

“I’m alive,” Oralie confirmed softly, voice just as raspy as all the rest of them.

Bronte didn’t trust his voice, didn’t trust whatever words there were for what he needed to say, but he could run over and throw his arms around Oralie, and that was what he did.

“Bronte!” There was relief in her tone, he thought, and a desperation to the way she threw her arms around him in return.

"Oralie." The name felt safe in his mouth, familiar syllables accompanied by the relief that Oralie was alive and safe and here.

"Bronte," Oralie repeated, and he could feel her trembling. "I didn't know if you had made it out."

"How do you think I felt?" Bronte regretted the snappish words the second they left his mouth, but he didn't back down. “I got out of the castle and Emery told me no one knew where you were!”

“That must have been scary,” she murmured. “It’s okay, Bronte. I’m safe.”

“Are you _okay_ , though?.”

“Not really.” Oralie's voice was quiet, seemingly not wanting the rest of the Council to overhear. “Don’t worry too much, though.”

“I’m always going to worry, that’s practically my job.”

“It’s not your job to worry about everyone.”

“For one, yes it is. Secondly, even if it wasn’t, you’re practically my younger sister at this point. I’m an older brother, I worry too much.” He was worried he had overstepped for a second, but Oralie just smiled faintly.

"I always did want a brother, I suppose."

Impulsively, Bronte hugged her again. “Sorry I snapped at you.”

“It’s okay. You were worried.”

“I’m still worried.”

“I know.” Oralie hugged him a little tighter one last time before letting go. “I won’t tell you not to, but…I’ll be alright.”

“I don’t need to be an empath to know you’re not exactly being truthful.”

“And I wouldn’t need to be an empath to know you were worried that I hadn’t emerged from the castle, or that something else is wrong.”

Bronte pushed the memory of Fintan’s fire-blue eyes out of his mind. “We can talk about that later.”

“Sleepover tonight?”

“Sleepover tonight.”

It was rarely, if ever, that the problems they faced as Councillors seemed in any way easy. Let alone the problems they faced personally. But Bronte had to admit that it all seemed a little bit easier with his best friend there and safe, at least for now. 


End file.
